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nobody

Not sure why he sits –
like a statue –
he sits.
Still.
The pigeons join him.
He doesn’t look lonely,
but he looks lost.
I can’t help but stare,
each day I stare.
Until I decide to talk to him…
He doesn’t respond –
I think he’s dead – that would explain it.
But nobody has done anything…
Nobody has done anything…
Then I see it: my reflection in his eyes.
A fateful truth I’ve been avoiding:
I am nobody.